Merry Jones - Elle Harrison 02 - Elective Procedures (11 page)

Silence. Then she sniffed, blew her nose. “Just go away.”

“Please. Let me dry your tears.”

“I said, go away.”

A chair scraped. “Okay. I’ll go if it’s what you want. But I won’t give up. I’ll be back. I can’t stay away from you,
mi amada
. I cannot help it.”

I leaned against the brick wall, heard the sliding door open, close. The woman sniffled again.

Downstairs, the fiesta was breaking up. People wandered back into the hotel.

I backed away from the railing and went back to my lounge chair, wondering about the woman next door. When had she moved in? What was her relationship with the man? When he’d said she was beautiful, why had the woman accused him of lying? Was she somehow deformed, here for corrective plastic surgery? It was none of my business, but I couldn’t help it. I wanted to lean over the railing and look at her. Maybe I could pretend I didn’t know anyone was there and act surprised to see
her sitting there. I could say something like—“Oh, you scared me. I thought that suite was empty.”

I told myself to keep out of it. To leave the poor crying woman alone. So I did.

Until I heard her speak again.

“It’s me.” Her voice was raspy, curt. Demanding. “What do you think? I’m sitting here, waiting for you.”

No one responded. But I’d seen a phone on the table—she must have made a call.

“Don’t make excuses. I want to see you.”

A pause, and then she said, “The door’s unlocked. Stop talking. Just get here.”

Wow. Her voice sounded entirely different than it had earlier. It was stern, gruff. The tears were gone. What had happened?

Never mind. Not my business. I was way too nosy. I got up, went into our suite. Susan was still snoring. In the kitchenette, I found some cheese and crackers. Poured some leftover wine. Went back outside with my snack, wondering once more why the suite had been occupied so soon after Claudia’s death. I sat at the table, sipped wine. Looked out at the black ocean. Pictured Claudia, reaching out for me. Losing her grip. Falling. I shuddered at the thud, closed my eyes. Saw the woman on the beach, her scarf rippling over her face, hiding its features. Charlie appeared, leading her away.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

I stiffened, put down my glass. Who’d said that? I looked around, even though I knew that no one was there. I must have thought the words, imagined the voice. Even so, I went to the railing and looked down, half expecting to see Claudia face down on the concrete, calling up to me. But of course she wasn’t. Instead, I saw hotel staff, scurrying to clean up from the party, preparing for the next morning’s activities. Nothing indicated that Claudia had ever plunged onto the pool deck in a
corona of blood. I leaned forward, glanced at the railing on which I’d found her. Was her spirit still there, clinging to it? Did her terror remain? Had Claudia just spoken to me?

Of course not. I’d imagined the voice. I returned to my seat, ate crackers with cheese. Drank wine. Lay down on the lounge chair. Refused to think about Claudia or the man who looked like Charlie or my new neighbor. Thought instead about Alain, his kiss. About seeing him again. And dozed.

Drifting off, though, I heard a woman’s ghostly voice. “Be careful,” it whispered. “Or the one who killed me will also kill you.”

The voice was crisp and clear. And close—I smelled floral perfume.

I opened my eyes, sat up, and looked around, but no one was there. I thought the sweet scent lingered, but I must have been mistaken. Or maybe it drifted over from the balcony next door.

After that, I was wide awake. I went inside. Thought again about waking Susan, decided not to. What would I say to her? That a disembodied voice had warned me of danger? That for months after Charlie died, I’d heard his voice, and that now, I was hearing Claudia’s? I worried my hands, shivered. Did laps around the living room.

Stop this, I said aloud. I hadn’t heard Charlie’s voice after his murder; I’d imagined it. Just as I had now imagined Claudia’s. The voices were symptoms of my psychological disorder—I tended to wander in my mind and confuse thoughts with reality. The voice—the warning hadn’t been real. No one was trying to kill me.

I sat in the chair opposite the sofa, assuring myself that I was safe, watching Susan sleep. Hearing the voice repeating itself. “The one who killed me will also kill you.” The words weren’t Claudia’s. They’d come from my own mind. But why would my mind have said that I was in danger?

I looked back at the balcony, searching for Claudia’s ghost. Saw my wineglass on the table with the rest of the crackers. I
leaned back, closed my eyes. Madam Therese smiled patiently, repeating, “The dead are drawn to you. You already know that.”

No. I opened my eyes, stood, repeating the obvious: The dead weren’t drawn to me or anyone else. The dead were dead. I shouldn’t be rattled. I’d fallen asleep and the voice had been a dream. Nothing more. Just a dream.

I went into my bedroom, put on a nightgown, brushed my teeth. Got into bed. Lay there, wide awake, unable to shake the sense that sleep would bring more dread and warnings. Or that, if I weren’t watchful, whoever had killed Claudia might come after me.

Eventually, sleepless, with nowhere else to go, I wandered back onto the balcony, refilled my wineglass, took a seat. Heard a man talking on the other side of the wall. Not the man from before, a different voice.

A familiar one.

“Why don’t you believe me? Why would I lie?”

I sat, listening, telling myself that I was mistaken. Certain that I wasn’t.

“Why? Because you’re a man. Because men lie. Because you want to control me.”

“I can’t defend all men. All I can do is assure you: You are beautiful—”

“I’m hideous. Look at me.”

A rustle of fabric. A soft moan. Was Alain kissing her? I pictured it, recalled his lips brushing mine.

“Do you believe me now?” Alain’s voice was throaty.

“I’m begging you, Alain. Please. Help me. Make me whole.”

“You are already whole. You are perfect as you are—”

“I’m not. I want to feel sexy. I want to have appeal. Why won’t you do this for me?” The woman wailed. “I’ll pay whatever you want. It would be no trouble for you.”

“Greta. No. I can’t do it. What you need is beyond my capability. Your face is perfection; your body is exquisite. The
work we’ve done has made you a goddess. I can’t remember ever seeing a more desirable woman.”

Really? I felt a stab, winced. Blushed, recalling his kiss. Alain was quite a player.

“Desirable?” I pictured Greta’s pout. “I’m repulsive.”

“Greta, please.”

“If I’m so desirable, how can you manage to resist me?”

Oh God. Furniture scraped again. She moaned. He grunted. I was frozen. Horrified, yet unable to leave. Tempted to lean around the brick wall and look. Was Alain really making love to her? To his patient? I listened, picturing the actions that went with each sound. Her groan would signify his hand sliding down from her hair to her shoulder to her breast, working its way inside her robe. If she was wearing a robe. Maybe it was a nightgown. Or nothing?

“Greta. I’m sorry.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I can’t do it.” Alain’s voice was low and breathy. “I have to go.”

“No—” Greta sounded stunned. Betrayed. “Why? You don’t have to go. That’s a lie. You find me repulsive, don’t you? You lied to me.”

“You are anything but repulsive. But I can’t keep doing this. We’ve discussed it. You knew that when you called me. I can’t help you anymore. It’s best that I go.”

The sliding door opened.

“Heartless, self-serving bastard! If you won’t help me—I’ll take care of it another way. I swear I will.”

“I hope you don’t mean that, Greta. You know what happened last time.”

“Stay with me, Alain. Or else—”

“I’ll put a list together for you. I’ll give you several names, all qualified. Take care of yourself, Greta.”

The door slid closed.

The woman let out a moan, dissolved into sobs. I couldn’t
help it. I leaned over the balcony and peeked around the brick wall, saw her doubled over, crying. Alain was gone. In the bedroom behind Greta, the lights were on. A maid was there, turning down the bed.

I sat on the lounge chair, gazing at the dark sky and the ocean, trying to make sense of what I’d heard. And then Greta spoke again.

“I’m glad you picked up.” She sniffled. “Listen, about before? I was cranky. Sorry. Come back. Yes, now. I’ll make it up to you.”

She was on the phone because no one replied and from then on, there was silence. After a few minutes, having finished my wine, I went inside and fell first into bed, then into a restless sleep filled with troubled dreams of Charlie. In one, I was supposed to call him, but couldn’t remember his number. In another, he was by the pool, surrounded by a bevy of faceless large-breasted women. He waved at me as I went for a swim, and I noticed that the water was the wrong color. I was back-stroking in blood.

Jen came back the next morning. Her nose was hidden under a wad of gauze, and she walked bent over like a crone, moving slowly and stiffly, cursing with every step.

Susan hovered, trying to help. “Should she go to bed?” she asked the aide. “Or would she be better out on the balcony in the fresh air?”

“Ask be, dot her,” Jen barked. “I’b goi’g the fuck to bed.” She sounded like her nose was stuffed. Maybe it was swollen? Or packed with more gauze?

“Jen,” I greeted her. “Welcome back—”

“Go to hell,” she snarled. She gripped the aide’s arm.

“She has medications,” the aide explained. “They make her say things she does not mean to say.”

“That’s a lie.” Jen growled. “They fucked be up.” She had made it to the bedroom door. “This isn’t dorbal. I deed the doctor.”

“Dr. Du Bois will be here,” the aide assured her. “Nothing went wrong. It’s the drugs. You’re confused, it’s okay.”

“She’s one of theb.” Jen insisted from inside the bedroom. “Elle. Susad. Help be. Are you guys just goi’g to fuckigg stad there ad let her kill be?”

“No one’s trying to kill you, Jen. This lady—”

“Maria,” the aide said.

“Maria is here to help you. You have drugs in your system, so you’re confused.”

I looked into the room, saw Maria help Jen into bed. Jen swore at Maria; Susan scolded Jen. On their dresser, Jen’s phone rang. I went to answer it. Saw that it was Norm.

“WTF!” Jen shouted. “It’s Dorb. Do’t adswer.”

The phone kept ringing.

Susan and I exchanged worried looks.

“Do’t tell hib. He doesn’t dow—Tell I’b at the gyb—”

“Norm still doesn’t know?” Susan gaped at her. “You really didn’t tell him about the surgery?”

“Ouch! Dab it,” Jen barked at Maria. “Get away from be. That’s by husbad od the phode. Whed he sees what you’ve dud to be, he’ll cub after you—all of you—” Her voice was weaker; she lay back on her pillows, fading.

I picked up the phone, went into the living room. “Hi, Norm.” I told him we were having a fabulous time. That Jen was out somewhere. That she’d call him back when she could.

I ended the call and went out onto the balcony, watching a pelican glide around. I gazed at the ocean, the alligator slide, the pool. I don’t know exactly what drew me to look at the balcony next door. Maybe I hoped I could get a glimpse of our new neighbor, find out what Alain’s idea of exquisite looked like. I stepped over to the brick dividing wall, held onto the railing and leaned over. Probably, she wouldn’t be out there; it was a silly idea. But I planted a smile on my face, a friendly greeting just in case.